Breathing
by HowToTrainYourPrat
Summary: By their very nature, the wars have changed them, but perhaps Percy Jackson more than others. He's withdrawn and his happy facade is fake. His hands are still when once he could not stop moving. He's quieter and he doesn't argue easily. And if not for the judgement of very powerful, but inexperienced witch, his friends might have had more time to figure this new Percy out.
1. Prologue:Today

He should have been happy. Percy Jackson should have been able to move on.

At least that's the way Nico di Angelo saw it.

What had a one point been a strong and reliable, though at times goofy, kid was now a serious and brooding man. Truly only 17 years old, he had enough baring to not be carded at even the most cautious of bars.

He comes through for the campers, playing games, laughing, and making sure to stay as personally connected as possible to every single one. He spreads himself thin. When the son of Hades finally managed to extract a real answer, after asking the older boy multiple times why it is so important he had to be so personal with _everyone_ , his heart sank.

The guilt over not checking on Bob. The building heartache when the titan forgave him and aided him anyways, even after the return of his memories. That kindness given to him in the bleakest of places when he felt he did not deserve it.

However, despite the show he puts on for _everyone_ , his façade slips, his weariness too heavy a burden to go unnoticed by those he's closest too, especially one Annabeth Chase and one Nico di Angelo.

His now ex-girlfriend is still a prominent figure in his life, important to his health as she's the only one able to coax him out into eating and sleeping after a panic attack, something he still has many of.

Nico himself rarely has them, blaming his speedy mental recovery after _that place_ on the fact that he was stuffed in jar nearly the entire time and not properly exposed to the horrors. And Annabeth? Well she's too proud he supposes to allow herself to be brought low by something other than an eight-legged bug-eater ("I swear to gods Nico di Angelo, if you do not drop it I will gut you!") That and she apparently has very little memory of it, just snapshots like Percy dying, eating fire, and a feeling of fear when she thinks about it too much.

So here they are, a bit over a year after the end of the second war they had to face together as children, and Percy Jackson is trapped and unable to simply live his life.


	2. Chapter 1: The Start of Something New

"I'm sorry?"

He stares at her, a mousy girl with crooked glasses that look like they were made in the 19th century and clutching a tomb-of-a-thing that was probably written on the very first paper ever made.

She tilts her head to the side, the cab behind her honking once before she waves a wad of cash carelessly over her shoulder. "You're a very miserable person and you're not happy here. I can fix that. . . . or I think so, at least."

He's utterly flabbergasted. He's dealt with a lot of shit, monsters, titan, Ares, more monsters, Triton that one time he helped the Stolls dye his hair pink, and a primordial but a random girl (who doesn't know what era she's from, he might add!) stepping out of cab and marching straight up to him while he's patrolling the boarders to declare that he's a depressing person (and yes those were some of the very first words out of her mouth) is definitely not normal.

He shakes his head. He doesn't necessarily feel threatened by her, but nobody can blame him for the step back he takes. "You must be mistaken. I am perfectly fine where I am . . . but I am curious as to how and why you're here. It's not okay exactly."

He's on the other side of the invisible boarder and while his gut is telling him that she's mortal and can't cross, his gut is also saying "Woah! Watch freaky, tiny girl! Mortals have weird shit going on too!"

"I saw you-well, technically I dreamt of you. Oh! I didn't introduce myself! My name is Mara! I don't know you but, you're a serious mood downer. I really think you need a change of scenery so I thought I could, just-well you know, change your scenery," she babbles out. She looks at him past her fringe and huffs. "Probably Wales or Scotland. You seem like you'd be that kind of person."

The son of Poseidon blinks. "You know that makes no sense, right? Absolutely no sense. And I don't think I'm a Wales or Scotland kind of person."

"Nonsense," she says and shuffles around until she has her book open, though it's so heavy she ends up squatting down to balance it on her knees. "I have just the spell somewhere in here-"

"Spell?"

"-so, if you would just give me a moment, I'll have you on your way to happiness in no time!"

Old Percy Jackson would have laughed and shuffled her back to the cab. Old Percy would have probably been patrolling with a friend to talk to, a friend who would have run off to Chiron to make a big deal about the apparently-clear-sighted mortal at their doorstep.

This Percy just watches, feeling too tired to know how to react a non-threat anymore.

Even when the girl's babble switches from something vaguely English in nature to something definitely not, something that sounds older and grates at his being like jagged stone, he doesn't move from his spot though he does utter a "Perhaps you shouldn't do that."

He feels a tug in his chest and he notices, as the strange girl looks up briefly, that her eyes are glowing gold. Something stirs within him, tingling along his very veins. He lets out an audible "wait" just as the world flips around before.

All of sudden he has no sense of up or down, the familiar colors of camp molding into darker greens and brown. He wants to throw up, but his stomach seems to be slinking off to some black hole. He feels lightly tugged into different directions, like a wind is trying to carry him off to a million different places at once. There's a feather light touch on his cheek and, though he can see nothing apart from what seems like TV fast forwarded so fast it becomes indiscernible, he has the feeling it's the mousy girl.

"I think….. it's taking you back….. I may …have made … . a mistake…"

And he knows that he really should have shoved her back in that cab.

O – O – O – O – O

"He's not come back yet?" Nico says, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He's standing in the doorway of his cabin, the door open only as far it needs to be for him to wedge himself halfway out. Aphrodite only knows what rumors would spin around camp if the curly haired boy knocking on his door caught sight of Will Solace in the son of Hades' bed.

Conner nods. "Annabeth sent me to check with you and if you don't know, you're to meet her and Chiron at the big house."

Nico frowns deeply, ugly lines marring his forehead. Again. He steps back and closes the door leaving the son of Hermes to frown in confusion. Three minutes later he emerges, fully clothed, and quickly takes to the path to head up to the big blue farm house that is central camp life.

The lone Stoll brother only sighs and frowns.

Percy's patrol was this morning and it's already fifteen minutes until the horn will blow to signal dinner. Patrols only last about two or three hours and the switching patrol means meeting up with whoever had it last unless you're the morning shift. Harpies take over night patrols and considering their penchant for eating out-of-bed demigods they're left to it.

He quickly discovers, as he sits down on the porch swing while the daughter of Athena stands at the railing, that they've been trying to track down the misplaced demigod since the second patrol went out. Chiron was here at first, but had to leave due something involving fire and a screaming daughter of Nike.

"You're not holding the secret location of another camp where some deranged goddess stashed my best friend again, are you?" Her voice is soft and vulnerable like it rarely is.

Nico chokes out a bitter laugh. "No. Though I wish I was. Then I'd at least know where is. Are you sure he didn't head home to his mother?"

"Positive. Mr. D said he didn't cross camp boarders," Annabeth growls.

The dark-haired boy snorts. "But he also said he's not within them either?"

Blonde curls bounce as Annabeth nods. Her shoulders sag in defeat. "Something happened on the Big Hill, but Peleus didn't even wake up so whatever it wasn't threatening. But-," she chokes up for a moment and her fist curls up tighter on the railing. "But he's gone again!"

Nico wants to point out that's it's only been a day and Percy has been known hide away more often since the war. However, he has a feeling, one could call it his demigod intuition (he called it going through shit every day for his godly family for far too long), that his cousin was out of reach of even Hera.

He rubs the bridge of his nose. He should have just stayed in bed with Will.

"Damn it Percy!"


	3. Chapter 2: The Start of Something Odd?

**As I should have probably put this in before, I do not own PJO or Merlin. Those rights go to Uncle Rick and BBC respectively.**

Percy remembers shadow traveling for the first time, remembers how upset his stomach and head had been. Over time, between he had grown accustomed to the feeling, coming to nearly enjoy it due to continued exposure to the son of Hades and his own dog (an oversized, very lovable hellhound). Shadow travel is more of an acquired taste.

In fact, just before things take a turn for the worst, before Mara's invisible hand falls away from his cheek and the colors turn to blinding white, he lets out a high pitched New Yorker cab whistle.

Though he has to wonder if it's hopeless to do so.

His body seems to unravel, the winds pulling at him becoming tendrils of something more solid and they pull him apart almost at once. The feeling isn't painless. This clearly isn't some dream (though his are rarely painless anymore). He wants to scream. It's not as painful as the Styx thankfully or even as painful as taking on all those curses from the Arai, but it feels so wrong and the pain is all-encompassing.

Then, as suddenly as it started, the process begins to reverse itself. It feels like he's been dunked in water, a very enjoyable and refreshing feeling for a son of Poseidon. A balm settles of his very soul. He wants to close his eyes again because the colors are back. This time there are no colors of camp. Only the darker colors of green and brown. There's brief flashes of a bright baby blue and as more seconds flash by oranges, reds, and yellows began to lance in well.

Air, really oxygen-laden air, slams into him moments before the ground rushes up to do the same.

Oh, he's going to feel _that_ for at least a month.

His arms tremble slightly as he pushes himself up, freshly fallen leaves shifting over top hard packed earth as he does so (Isn't it supposed to be spring?). Around him is nothing but woods, deep woods, unlike even those back at camp. He feels that they just go on endlessly around him. Around him he can feel the moisture in the plants and a few small creeks and rivers.

He runs a hand through his hair. "Shit. Little witch girl, shit."

He feels something shift and it takes him a moment to realize that it's the water around him shifting. A person, entering his radar (what else is he supposed to call it?). He turns toward the area he can feel them at and has to marvel at their less-than-organized meandering. Whoever it must be looking for something.

It takes what be twenty minutes to make it to the field where a man around his age is shuffling around. He watches him for a moment, trying to gage if he should approach or not. A tingling feeling hides in his chest at the strangeness of it all. From camp, his home, to this strange foreign land where a man clearly is not wearing clothes from the modern day and all thanks to one young girl.

Finally, he decides to step out, making his presence known to the other man who jerks into a standing position in surprise. They're poor but Percy recognizes something of battle readiness in the movements.

He stops just feet into the clearing and just under what is clearly an autumn sun. He spreads his arms carelessly and calls out. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm very lost. I was hoping you could help at least get me back to where some people are."

The boy frowns but scurries over to him. He's as tall as Percy is, something that's impressive after Percy most recent growth spurt. He has a woven basket on one arm, something that Percy has seen before in museums in old and decrepit states, but never relatively new and in use. His clothes look course, the material jaggedly cut and a thin leather belt unhelpfully lending to thin silhouette at his waist.

"Oh, uh …. Yes," he manages, eyes wide as he takes in Percy's appearance and what must be very strange clothing to him. Really the demigod is just wearing his usual jeans and camp t-shirt with his favorite grey jacket thrown over top. On his feet are a pair of blue sneakers that Leo always complains go with atrociously with either camp's colors. But based on the dated way this kid is dressed, these clothes are probably no longer normal.

"I'm from very far off," Percy hazards and then pauses. "Very. I don't know that I'll be able to get back any time soon unless you know mousy girls with ancient books and spells."

If possible, the poor guy's eyes grow wider. His head whips around violently before he turns back to Percy. "Shhh! If anyone were to here you mention magic, you could be killed!"

The son of Poseidon blinks and then slowly nods. "You kill people who talk about magic?"

He's not used to mortals believing in magic. Then again if his suspicions are correct, people believe in magic here because he just got a one-way ticket very far back in time.

To what will probably become Wales or Scotland. Or somewhere near there since his conductor was obviously not well versed in accuracy.

The dark-haired guy with Dumbo-sized ears (Percy should really ask for his name before he runs out of things to call him) eyes him. "You must from extremely far away. Magic is outlawed here. Has been since the Purge."

"The movie?" No wait, Percy. He probably doesn't know what that is.

"…. What?"

"Never mind," Percy huffs. "Though that is how I got here. If you could just guide me to the nearest city, perhaps I can figure out what's going on and go home. Oh and before I forget, my name is Percy." He sticks out his hand which the other guy hesitantly shakes.

Then his face splits into a huge grin, one large enough that makes Percy wince because surely that hurts. "We're only an hour from Camelot actually. Maybe Gaius can help you. He's the court physician but he's familiar with magic somewhat. And my name's Merlin. I'm King Arthur's manservant."

Percy just nods and lets Merlin lead him across the clearing and back into the woods. He babbles something about knowing another Percy (Percy Weasley was bad enough, but does there have to actually be a living person with his name?!), but that his knight's name is actually Percival. To which, Percy acknowledges that his name is Perseus (so at least they don't have the _exact same_ name).

Camelot? Merlin? King Arthur? Knights? Is this even real? Maybe Mara just knocked him out instead and he's dreaming. This is so strange. The only thing clear right now is that things are definitely not the same as his favorite childhood stories. For one thing, Merlin is considerably younger and for another, magic is illegal.


	4. Chapter 3: The Road There

**A/N**

 **I don't know if this feels a bit rushed. I'm always afraid that I'm not taking long enough to develop and explain each scene/moment. However, thus far I am enjoying writing this and I hope that if there are any plot holes you'll excuse them. I haven't read PJO since the last book came out (which consequently was a letdown after all that build up) and it's been awhile since I watched Merlin all the way through.**

 **Rick R. and BBC own the original plot and characters. Thanks again, but can Merlin please have a sequel?**

Merlin explains about Camelot as they walk. He talks little about the city and its laws, though enough for Percy to know he's bound to end up in trouble quickly. Instead he talks on and on about the people.

And Percy listens, because there's nothing particularly scenic about the route they take, though eventually the rough forest floor gives way to a well-worn path where they take a left to keep heading toward the city. Here, with the way open before them and the sky above them, the fiery colors of the leaves are admittedly a nice view.

He talks about Arthur a lot, high reverence spilling forth for his King's character. There's familiarity in voice and fondness that Percy takes to represent more of friendship than a strict servant/master relationship.

His relationship with Gaius, the Court Physician, is different. The man quickly takes on a father figure role in Merlin's descriptions as the secret magician (no way Arthur knows about his magic, though Percy supposes that he shouldn't either) regales the demigod with tales of almost demise by stupidity or bad luck and the old man's quick thinking (his tales are careful and have nothing in them about magic that could be traced back to Merlin).

There's other people too. He's fond of the Queen, a kind woman by the name of Gwen and, even though Percy doesn't ask, Merlin explains that he was friends with her before Arthur even really knew who she was because, originally, she was a maidservant to the old king's ward.

"And then there's the knights," Merlin continues (and does the boy ever take a breath?). "Leon has been there the longest out of the Round Table- Oh the Round Table is- "

"Merlin." Percy interjects. The lankier man pauses and looks at him expectantly. "I can remember a lot, but if you tell me too much more I'll end up getting everything mixed up. I'd probably even forget that it's Camelot we're going to right now."

And there's that infuriating grin again, far too large for the boy's elvish face. "Ah, sorry. I got a bit carried away, didn't I?"

Percy nods his assent and turns his eyes away, looking deep into the foreign woods. Even the trees seem strange though he can recognize several different species thanks to the lessons that Juniper has _oh-so-helpfully_ given him.

A pang rattles his chest as a feeling of loss settles over him. He wants to be angry at the girl who caused this, but it's hard to direct such strong emotions at a girl that is more smoke and mirrors than real person to him. So instead he is left with a hollow ache and a building migraine. And damn it all, he still hurts from whatever that was that brought him here!

"You, uh. … don't talk a lot."

A sigh escapes him. "I'm just not a talkative person."

". . . . You know, I don't think I've seen you smile once either." He's trying to be light hearted, trying to get Percy to talk and honestly it would have bothered Percy before in that annoying kid asking a million questions way (*cough*Nico*cough*). Now he just feels unsettled, as if they're talking about someone else but Percy is still to blame for the less-than-favorable personality.

"Just been a very long day is all," he finally replies and the conversation drops off for a while.

At least until they come into sight of Camelot.

After Olympus and Atlantis, Camelot is admittedly a letdown, but he imagines that for the day and age (probably even by modern standards) that it's impressive. The sprawling castle seems to soak up the evening sun and thrust it upon its citizens. Even from here, which actually isn't too far away, they can see the bustle of city life. The spires set the castle apart, pulling it upwards towards the heavens and creating an impressive vantage point to the surrounding land and yet the walls flow seamlessly into the city.

The castle belongs there. It isn't a separate entity like Olympus is above New York. It's more like Atlantis in the surrounding ocean, taking from what's around it as influence and giving back a glow of warmth and support. He wonders vaguely if that's the influence of the Great King or if it was like this with the previous ones too.

"There she is," Merlin says, breaking the relaxing silence. Then he eyeballs Percy. "We have to get you a change of clothes first. You'll stick out immediately. One want someone to think you're a very weird wizard or anything. I think I have a friend about your size. I'll go borrow some stuff and bring it back here."

Percy scowls at him, but doesn't protest. It makes sense that he wouldn't want to just go parading through a major city in a paranoid society (magic-hating definitely counts as paranoid) in clothes of unknown make and material.

The servant bounds off, taking the road down into the city but not before not-so-gracefully hiding Percy off to the side first. "Because you don't like to talk, not because you're strange. I'm sure you're perfectly normal…. Now I sound like Gwen."

Percy huffs and finds a nice sized rock to sit on. What kind of luck is this? Oh, sure he gets to probably meet his childhood idol (Kind Arthur was a huge favorite of his during the bleak years with Gabe Ugliano), but he's also severely misplaced with no clear indication on how to get back to his own city and time.

Maybe he can ask Merlin to send him back, but he has to think of way to bring up his magic (because he's positive he does have it and just hides for fear of execution) and then inform him that he needs it to leave. Oh, and he has no way to pay unless they would like a few pieces of lint and a bottle of blue food dye (there is a perfectly logical reason that he had put blue food coloring in his pocket that morning while doing patrol. He just doesn't want to talk about it).

His eyes drift to the lowering sun and he guesses that it's around dinner time here, much later than his internal clock says it should be. He doesn't imagine that this kind of thing has rules like keeping with the time and date you left and only altering the year. That would be too simple for poor unwilling time travelers.

There's a peacefulness in these woods that Percy has never known, not with the modern cities always lingering around the corner. He feels a hum when he focuses, as if the very earth is alive and speaking to him. It's warm and inviting and he wants to lay down and let it envelope him.

It's a while before Merlin comes back and Percy feels the tingling feeling return as he approaches. The demigod wonders how he didn't notice it was gone. He stands from his rock and approaches Merlin who has a stack of clothing in his arms. As he takes the pile, he notices the fabric is nicer than what the servant is wearing.

"It's Percival's," Merlin responds with a shrug. "I was going to ask Gawain, but I didn't think he'd be tall enough for you. They'll be a bit baggy, but the shirt still has the sleeves so there's that." Why wouldn't the shirt have sleeves? Merlin holds out a pair of boots next, well-polished with only light wear and tear around the edges. "Percival's feet looked too big so these _are_ Gawain's. They're a pair of his nicer ones that Arthur gave him in order to make him 'not so ragged like he just woke up in a bar and rolled through the pig trough' (he says this in a higher voice as if mocking his King). Naturally Gawain hates them. I think they'll fit though. The knights said you can keep everything as well."

"Thanks," Percy mutters, before motioning to a more covered spot and moving off to change. It takes him a little longer than normal to switch into the new clothes due to the fact that these garments settle much differently than what he's used to, but finally he emerges to face Merlin's critical gaze.

The hidden warlock's eyes widen minutely for a moment, but then he nods and if Percy were a few years younger he would not have noticed the sadness that flashes briefly across his features. The pants are a very dark brown, baggy like cargo pants but without that the pockets. The shirt is a lightly-worn off-white thing with a chest he could lace up but hasn't and sleeves that come to his wrists but which he has rolled up to the elbows. The boots (should he be wearing boots gifted to someone else by the king of all people?) are a dark leather, a few shades lighter than the pants, go up to just below his knee and are slim fitted.

The demigod looks down at himself and grimaces. "I look ridiculous."

Merlin just shakes his head and his grin widens. "You look noble."


	5. Chapter 4: The King Dubbed Princess

**A/N:**

 **Again, Rick and BBC own the people.**

 **I own time-traveling obviously.**

He's being watched.

They're passing through town on their way to the castle and he can feel dozens of eyes trailing him as they pass. He wants to look around. See the houses. Admire the merchant booths. See what that weird game is those children are playing.

But the constant eyes on him keep his head firmly forward, unwilling to make eye contact awkwardly or invite curious conversation.

"Do I still look strange?" he mutters off-handedly to Merlin.

The servant looks at him out of the corner of his eye and laughs. "You look like a knight without his armor. They always watch the knights come through. Don't worry, you'll get used to it. The others did."

Percy raises an eyebrow. "The others?"

"Oh," Merlin exclaims. "The common born knights, the knights of the round. I guess you're not a knight, but they all had to get used to the looks too. They're good looking, wear nicer clothing, were new once. That sort of thing."

The demigod rolls his eyes, wanting to state that his clothes won't be nice for long with no money and that he's not good looking (has the man seen his untamed hair?), but he refrains. It sounds like an exhausting argument. Instead he tilts his jaw up in stubborn defiance. He will not be shaken by a few looks. He has no idea he's glaring ahead or that Merlin's smile has dropped from his face at the severe look, but he does feel marginally better.

The dirt of the first half of the city turns to cobblestones and the guards that Percy had noticed throughout become more numerous, sprinkled with what Percy assumes is the higher-ranking knights. After all they have much shinier armor and some even have red cloaks. The smell of urine and filth that was also prominent in the lower town is dampened here by the smells of herbs and flowers, few of which are immediately visible.

They cross a drawbridge and the guards there don't even give them a second look. Percy hopes dearly that it's because Merlin is such a trusted member of the staff and well-known and not because of negligence. Perhaps he'll mention it to whoever oversees their training and placement if he gets a chance.

The courtyard the duo enters is alight with activity though it seems that fewer everyday citizens linger here. It is primarily the bustle of servants, guards, and knights. There's even a very finely dressed lady off to the side talking amiably to another. These must be the people who live in the castle or have regular business there as the main steps and doors are across from where they've entered. The odor is nearly nonexistent here, though Percy does wonder how a person can bear to stay in the city at all.

"Merlin, my friend, there you are!" a man calls to them. He jogs across the square, the giant of a man he was in conversation with following silently. They're both wearing partial armor and are covered in sweat and grime. They stop a few feet away, a rugged grin splitting the shorter one's handsome face as his dark hair settles around his face. "Man, you weren't kidding when you said your new friend was tall. Think he's only half a hand shorter than Percy here."

The demigod's eye twitches with the use of his name for someone else. It's weird. This must be Gawain then and the large one Percival (an inner part of him, buried deep down, sings in happiness at meeting two of the round table). However, the shorter man is correct. Percy's lean height makes him only inches shorter than the bigger man despite his much lither frame.

"Hello Gawain, Percival," the warlock stresses the second name and Percy is thankful. "This is Perseus," On second thought, maybe Merlin has a death wish, "or Percy for short."

Gawain's mouth makes an "O" shape before a shockingly evil smile makes its way across his face. He's about to say something when-

" _Mer_ lin! Where have you been?!"

"Oh, and there's the princess himself come to ruin all the fun," Gawain huffs mockingly.

Merlin just smiles, completely used to his friend's antics. Percy looks back over to where a man is descending the stairs in a full set of armor, the cool metal glinting in the sun despite smudges of dirt all over it. His head is bare but his blond locks and flushed face are covered in a layer of sweat. He bright blue eyes are currently glaring daggers at the lanky servant in their group. However, the sword belted to his hip stays sheathed (something of note Percy immediately).

Merlin isn't bothered in the least and gives a challenging grin in return. "I had to pick herbs for Gaius, Arthur. I told you so this morning. Or was George late? Maybe he hasn't brought you your dinner yet? It's still a bit early, you know."

The last comments make a vein jump in the irate blonde's forehead and his brow twitches. "I recall that, _Mer_ lin. What I don't recall is giving you permission to stand around and chat with my knights, who _should be training_."

"Ah, come on princess, we just came from the training field-"

Arthur doesn't even spare him a glance. "Now you three!"

Percy blinks a little bit. Does the King seriously believe he's one of his knights? Before Gawain can open his mouth or the demigod can say something for himself, Percival is tugging them along with a quiet "Come on. Let's just do as the King says."

Gawain just laughs and pats his shoulder when they're farther away. "Looks like you're one of us for now, friend. Don't worry, we'll go gentle on you"

Percival surprises them both by slapping his fellow knight upside the head. "You can just watch, Percy."

"Thanks Percival," he says. He wonders how the other man feels about their names. He considers for a moment asking for a sword to join in (bringing out Anaklusmos in the middle of nowhere sounds the same as raising a giant magical flag), but his body _still_ aches from his arrival and his technique is likely very different from theirs.

They arrive at a giant open field on a different side of the castle, where the wind brings in the smell of the forest in the distance. There are a few benches along the one side as well as a single sword rack filled to bursting with unmarked swords. He hovers near it before reluctantly taking a seat on one of the bench as Gawain and Percival square up a few yards away. They both have their own swords, but they pull out the less decorated ones instead.

Gawain's movements are smooth, but fast as the two begin to trade blows. He darts in out of Percival's defenses landing bruising strikes on the other man's armor. Percival, while slower, is good at blocking and evening better at using his large build to throw Gawain around like a straw dummy a few times. It's obvious that Gawain is the better swordsman but he's having an awful time getting through Percival's defense without the other man landing several of his own hits.

Percy acknowledges that they're good swordsmen but his time as an instructor and his own years with a sword leave him fuming at the gaps they create from familiarity and overconfidence.

"Percival!" he calls and the other man turns to him, earning him a smack in the side from Gawain who only looks mildly apologetic. The larger man nods at him, but he seems confused with the interruption. "Your stance is too wide and you're anchored to the ground like a boulder. If you don't learn to move, he's going to eventually knock you on your ass!"

The poor man looks down at his feet before shifting them into a more natural position. He glances at Gawain before looking back at the dark-haired youth. "This better?"

Percy nods, but his frown remains. He stands up and moves over to grab a sword before joining the two on the field. "That's better, but now you have to learn to balance while standing like that and you need to work on _moving_."

The rugged knight backs up, hands raised. "He's all yours, though I have to warn you that he hits like a boulder too."

Percy steps in front of the tall knight and motions for the other man to get into a ready position. He almost immediately sighs. "No, not like that. The wind could blow you over or worse yet, your friend Merlin."

A loud laugh erupts from behind him and Percival grins, though his cheeks are bit red. His stance is narrower as it should be, but his body is now overbalanced, unfamiliar with the placement of his feet. The demigod quickly helps push him into place, all the while explaining the new stance and what it will do it for the man.

He steps back again and this time he is faced with a ready knight. Without warning he lunges forward to attack and the other man blocks, barely prepared for his quick movements. Instead of sparring like he would with say Jason or Nico (not Annabeth, she always puts him on the defensive. That woman knows him too well and is scary) he intentionally leads the other man along just as he would in one of his sword class.

The man's technique is good, much better than the majority of campers he's taught, but he sees where it could use work and corrects it accordingly. He intentionally feints towards sides that are open before redirecting his attacks elsewhere to keep Percival on his toes. It's several minutes before Percy deems that the fight has gone on long enough. The other man is tired, likely from his long day of training as well, and he's becoming sloppier. It's come to the point that he's making more mistakes than when they started and if they keep going, his muscles aren't going to remember the right way.

Mere seconds later the giant's sword flies through the air to land on in the grass a bit away and the demigod hooks his heel around Percival's knee to pull him off balance. The man ungracefully lands on his rear and when he looks up there's a sword at his throat.

For a moment, his heart leaps at the unfamiliar face gazing down at him through unreadable, swirling green eyes, but then he's being helped up and the hand on his arm is steady and comforting.

"Not bad, you're pretty good you know," Percy says. He's turned away to frown at Gawain who is clapping happily and saying something about telling "princess all about this fiasco." The older man can still feel his penetrating gaze and the color of those unnatural eyes won't leave him. He feels the ocean in that look, like that one time as a child when he stood on the beach with his father, the eerily calm water spread out in front of them forever and dark storm clouds looming ominously.

Percy looks at him again, his gaze less pressing this time. "Much better than a lot I've taught. No wonder you're one of the King's best men." At Gawain's question of who told him that he responds. "Merlin talks a lot."

That makes Gawain snort knowingly.

"Thanks," Percival mutters. "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

As they start walking back at Gawain's insistence that Percy must be tired (he's not wrong, but it likely has more to do with the fact that he can't wait to tell everyone about Percival's less-than-graceful loss), they stop to put their swords back on the rack.

The demigod shrugs. "I had a good instructor as a kid and I also had a knack for pissing people off. There's been a lot of fighting for my life in the last several years."

This seems to delight Gawain who once again opens his mouth with a devious smirk –

"You know, I don't believe I ever recall knighting you."

They jump and all turn to see the King, standing behind a bench only feet away, arms crossed and a thoughtful look on his face (Percy's heart is beating fast and his migraine is making itself known. How could her be so unaware?!). Arthur Pendragon gazes at the three of them passively. "Care to explain what I seem to have missed."


	6. Chapter 5: Introductions

**A/N**

 **I do not own Merlin or PJO. I merely own moodiness.**

 **Thank you to those that have followed, favorited, and reviewed. I greatly appreciate it.**

 **Full speed ahead!**

"Your timing sucks, Princess," Gawain remarks. "And this is our new friend, Percy. Merlin found him while he was herb picking."

"…. Found him… herb picking?" Arthur says incredulously. He stares at the demigod. "What? Do they grow skilled swordsmen on the side of trees now?"

Percy shrugs. "I got lost. Your servant found me and drug me back here against my will, babbling all the while about round tables and someone named Gwen." He intentionally widens his eyes on the last part. "I'm told she's very pretty."

He doesn't know why he feels inclined to poke fun and perhaps cause a bit of trouble for Merlin, but he does know that the distraction will be enough that he has time to formulate a credible story.

"He said what about my wife?!" The blond exclaims. The field is silent as he glares at the other man, huffing quite a bit.

Finally, he Percy shrugs, "Actually he just said she's a good friend and the loyal wife of the King. I was only joking."

Gawain seems to be the only one to find it funny and he happily throws an arm around the demigod's shoulders. "Oh, he's a keeper Arthur. Why don't you just make him a knight and we can all go down to the tavern to celebrate? Or better yet, bring out some of that royal ale! I bet Percy here could wipe even your royal feet out from under you!"

The blonde shakes his head. "I cannot make a man I don't know a knight."

"You knighted Elyan and Percival just after meeting them," Gawain says, pointing a finger at his King. Percival just grunts.

"We fought for our lives together before that and they had already pledged to save Camelot, Gawain," Arthur argues. "I met this man just moments after seeing him take out one of my best knights. I don't know him nor does anyone I trust know him well enough to knight him."

"He also trained Percival," is the immediate reply. The son of Poseidon for his part just watches the exchange bemused.

Arthur rolls his eyes. "If you like him that much Gawain, he can be given chambers in the castle for as long as he wants, but it will be up to you to pay for what he needs. Wouldn't want your new friend put out by our hospitality, now would we?"

So that's how the argument starts. Gawain wants to know why Arthur won't at least provide food seeing as he clearly has enough ("ARE YOU CALLING ME FAT, SIR GAWAIN?") and Percival steps in to ask if Percy can get a knight's share of food and in exchange he can offer some pointers during training while he's staying in Camelot. Arthur agrees to this, but points out that Gawain will still be responsible for taking care of the rest seeing as he's annoying his monarch right now and this should be more preferable to the stocks for a week.

Percy just shakes his head. Perhaps they don't even consider the idea of him getting a job and providing for himself or maybe they think he'll only be here for a very short time. Hopefully he can get home quickly, but it's not a sure thing.

The King leaves them a moment later to go have dinner with his wife and make sure Merlin hasn't run off again. Gawain announces that they can join the rest for dinner in Elyan's rooms and after that Percy's rooms should be ready.

"Shouldn't we ask someone?" Percy says as they turn down _yet another_ corridor.

Gawain just shakes his head. Percival smiles at him. "Arthur will have already asked someone to. He doesn't act like he cares, but he does."

Percy nods before saying. "He's different than I thought he would be."

"Oh ho, did you think he'd be this kind and noble sort of king?" Gawain says loudly, drawing the disapproving look of a passing nobleman.

The dark-haired demigod only shakes his head, but he's silent for a few minutes. What did he think of Arthur when he read of him as a child? Certainly, he didn't picture the man they just spoke to. "I guess I just imagined that'd he'd be bigger than life. That he wouldn't be so…"

"Human?" Gawain's voice is oddly serious now, a shocking turn. "Percy's right. He's a good guy too. All thanks to Merlin from what I hear. He used to be a pompous ass all right, but he's changed. I wouldn't be a knight to any other king."

"Geeze Gawain," Percy comments dryly. "One might actually think _you_ care."

The other man just shoves him and laughs. He seems to laugh often and Percy enjoys the sound as it doesn't come off forced like it often does with his camp friends (at least when he's near). He also feels included in the joke. The other man doesn't seem to mind that he's not that talkative or that he can't smile or laugh with them. They don't seem to mind that he's a stiff presence and that he emits a strong air of brooding.

Perhaps it's because they're grown men and not a camp full of children or young adults who have gone through far too much war at their age. These men live in a time when life is naturally difficult and when war is glorified, but still terrible. Merlin and Arthur seem younger, probably his age or a year or so older. But Gawain and Percival are at least in their thirties.

Elyan's room is simply furnished with a bed on one wall, a few dressers and cabinets, and a large six-person table in the middle. A wood burning fireplace is keeping out the evening chill on the right. The room is actually a little bit warmer than what one would prefer normally, but seeing as Gawain talks as much as Merlin, Percy already knows it's likely because its resident has a history with the smithy.

Three men are already present and Percy assumes that these are the rest of the round table knights. Introductions are quickly made and he is introduced without his full name (he told Gawain in no uncertain terms that the knight would never like training again if the older man so much as uttered it). He meets Elyan (a shorter man with dark skin and a bright smile. "Gwen's brother"), Leon (who's about his height with a full head of curly, dirty blonde hair. "He's a noble, my friend." "That's unnecessary commentary Gawain"), and Mordred (who's quiet and brooding, so Percy's not the first. He's also sixteen at best. He has dark, curly hair and bright eyes, a bit of an Asa Butterfield lookalike. "He's a druid." "Gawain…").

Percy and Mordred eat quietly while the others talk loudly, the knights occasionally teasing the youngest member of their group and frequently turning the topic of conversation towards their guest. Mordred keeps looking at him as if trying to read him and Percy is trying hard to not make eye contact. Since he entered the room, a similar tingling feeling crept up on him as when he had been with Merlin. However, it's not nearly as strong as before and the feeling is different somehow though he can't say how.

Sitting next to Mordred now, he knows without a doubt the feeling is coming from him. His eyebrows furrow as a thought pokes at him.

"Do druids have magic?" he asks when there's a lull in the conversation. Gawain chokes briefly on his food and fortunately can't speak.

Leon takes the chance to answer despite his surprise. He has a steady, sure way of speaking and Percy is sure that he's a great leader just from his tone alone. "The druids are known for their association with magic as they've always been the closest to it and their religion is nearly one and the same with the craft. However, Kind Arthur is lenient with them because most do not actually practice magic and they usually avoid the main populace."

"Lenient, but not forgiving," Percy says, gaze locked on the man.

"Magic is a dangerous and tricky area," Leon admits after a moment. "We always take caution when it is or could be involved."

Nobody has really looked at Mordred, though it was an open admission that he is in fact a druid. They must not believe he has magic or he's been with them long enough that they trust him. He does know that Mordred had a big role in the stories, though Percy can't remember what it was for the life of him.


	7. Chapter 6: Before Breakfast

**A/N:**

 **I do not own Merlin or Percy or their respective story colleagues.**

 **I only own air.**

 **Apologies that the update is slower coming than the last several. It' harder to find time to type with my four-year-old sister running around, preparation for fall classes, and the fact that I'm taking on an internship now.**

 **I hope it was worth the wait.**

The chambers Percy is given are roughly the same size as Elyan's with a view of the forest, for which he's grateful. It's furnished in Camelot red and there's what Percy assumes is a wash basin in the corner by the changing screens. He finds the chamber pot under the bed and after a moment's hesitation, relieves himself. He decides to keep that particular item in the corner furthest from his bed.

A fire is burning low in the grate and when Gawain and Elyan dropped him off they explained that he wouldn't have a servant but that someone would bring by meals and keep the fire going. He could request a bath as well if he is in dire need of one. After that it'd be on him to keep his room clean, bed made, and his belongings maintained.

"Don't worry, friend, I sent along a few pieces of clothing to get you by until I can take you to get more clothes in the market," Gawain assures with a hand on his shoulder.

They didn't linger long and Percy is thankful. Elyan may be fine, but Gawain reeks of alcohol and is even more fond of hanging on his friends than he was earlier in the day. It makes the demigod highly uncomfortable and dredges up bad memories.

He doesn't change into the clothes provided before climbing into bed. He's too exhausted and everything _hurts_. Perhaps he'll see if they have a muscle relaxant somewhere around here when he gets up.

Or whatever the medieval equivalent is.

His eyes are still wide-open hours later as he stares at the canopy of his bed. He's fortunate, he knows. He could have ended up further away from civilization. He could have met someone who was too distrustful to help him or he could have run smack dab into a den of murderers and thieves. However fortunate he is though, his nerves are alight and despite the friendly atmosphere and his good feelings about these men, he's the one distrustful and hesitant, years of war not allowing him to relax.

It doesn't help matters either that he knows that if he closes his eyes nightmares will assault him. They won't be crazy things his mind imagines either, they will be the never-ending terrors of his own past (despite the fact that none of that stuff has actually happened yet, but let's not think about that too much, Percy). He will relive again and again the things and events that have pushed him so far into this numbness and desolation.

His head hurts.

Morning light is barely streaming in the window when he gets up and changes. He washes his face in the cold water from the basin and then slinks out of the quiet room. The hall is a bustle of hushed activity, as only servants and a few guards are up this early, and the stone of the castle carries with it a heavy chill. He stops a young man, quickly asking where he can find something for a headache (migraine) and is shortly on his way to the physician's chambers.

"He'll be up already. Has to be up early to keep Merlin from being late," the servant had said with a chuckle.

It takes a few more times of stopping to ask for directions before he's in front of the correct door. He knocks quietly and then takes half a step back to wait. The "enter" comes almost immediately and so does as he's bade.

The room inside is crowded, his hyper active mind easily distracted by this or that, but he keeps his eyes firmly forward. He notices that there are many, many books and several sets of bowls and glass vials. Every surface seems to have something on it and there's a bed neatly tucked off to the side. Herbs are strung up in nearly every crevice to dry. An older man with too-long white hair and a robe of all things is bent over one of the tables grinding something into a stone bowl.

Merlin sits across form him, eating what looks like oatmeal and sagging with sleep. They both look up as he comes in.

"Percy!" Merlin calls to him happily. He suddenly seems a lot more awake, though Percy notices that some of his slouch and the bags under his eyes remain.

The tall demigod walks over to stand by them. "Sorry to come so early. I'm a bit sore and I have a headache. I don't have a means of paying, but if you need errands ran…"

"The king pays me enough," the old man remarks off-handedly before looking up. "I'm Gaius and you must be Perseus."

Green eyes turn to glare accusingly at blue and Merlin raises his hands in surrender. He doesn't look the least bit apologetic though. He jumps up and crosses the room to grab a vile off a shell against one of the walls.

"Just Percy is fine, Gaius," the demigod remarks, watching the gangly man.

Gaius nods to the vial in his ward's hand. "That will take care of your headache. I have a salve around here somewhere for bruises and another for the muscles. What's bothering you most?

Percy sits down as he uncorks the vial handed to him before downing it in one gulp, hardly noticing the foul taste. "I took a fall yesterday, but my muscles have been seizing too. I think I overworked them a bit."

The physician frowns, but nods again. He motions to the back wall and Merlin walks over to retrieve two small jars. He gives those to Percy as well, who takes them gratefully.

"Do you need help with those?" Merlin asks.

"Nah, I'll get it when I get back to my room," Percy says. He lays the jars on the table in front of him then shifts until he's facing Gaius directly, who is now adding water to whatever he's ground up. He feels Riptide shift against his leg in his boot where he put it upon realizing that none of Gawain's pants have pockets and settles at the proximity of his trusted friend. "I did want to talk to you about something else though. Merlin was telling me that you may be able to help me with the more-than-natural way I came to Camelot."

Gaius has this thing with his eyebrow as Percy is already learning. While his face may not change much, the eyebrow rises steadily expressing more than an exclamation of "Oh do you now?" ever could.

Percy gives a side glance to Merlin before deciding he doesn't care about the right way of doing this or if this is what Merlin meant when he said Gaius could help or not. He quickly explains what happened just the morning before leading up to and after the events with Mara the Witch. He even describes his morning of patrol and the what he was doing just as she walked up to him (so maybe he substitutes "petting their guard to dog" in for "scratching that spot just behind Peleus's jaw that makes him thump his tail on the ground in bliss") though he leaves out the nature of his camp, including the fact that it's comprised of the traumatized children of gods.

That damned eyebrow only climbs higher.

"I do not believe that I am the right person to aid you," Gaius finally remarks.

"You can't help?" Percy asks, a feeling of disappointment settling in his stomach.

"What you're speaking of, if you really have been sent so far back in time, isn't the most powerful magic out there. You don't need a high priestess in order to do it, but it's otherwise impossible to control. Only the fates themselves can tell which direction a man will go when such an enchantment is cast," Gaius says. His hands are folded in front of him and his face is severe.

"She wanted to send me to Scotland and the spell is so hard to control that she sent me oversees and thousands of years into the past instead," Percy huffs dryly.

Gaius smirks a bit then. "I do believe she was looking for a different enchantment, but likely did not have enough power for it and thus settled for this one. Transportation is difficult magic indeed. No, back when magic was widely practiced students were always taught to be weary of this spell. It takes energy directly from the earth instead of the caster so even a person without a drop of magical ability can do it theoretically, though it is rather difficult to say."

Percy sighs. "So even I could do the spell… but I could also end up literally anywhere at any time."

Gaius laughs. "You could do the spell if anyone actually knew how to do it or even locate it. It's been lost for hundreds of years. Young magicians used to cast it all the time despite warnings and were lost to us all at once. I only know that a few were deposited right in the middle of Uther Pendragon's Great Purge because the king they called for before death had been gone for nearly 300 years! It's said one of the strongest Priestesses to ever live collected and burned every mention of the spell before erasing it from everyone's mind."

"That's absurd, Gaius! Why haven't more people heard of this?" Merlin says, plopping down next to Percy at the table. The " _Why didn't I know of this?!"_ is left unsaid.

The old man simply shakes his head. "Nobody speaks about magic anymore, boy. You know that. And besides, before today, even I thought it was just a silly bedtime story to caution the young against taking the easy way out. Mages lost to time and space. Nobody believed it!"

Percy stares hard down at his hands, his left palm marred by a jagged white scar and his right more heavily calloused from years of holding his sword. Is there no way to get home then? Even if he could somehow find someone who could control the spell, it's a lost cause if there's nowhere to find the spell, to book to look in or isolated, weird old guy to ask. His fists clench tightly before he rises and collects the two jars.

"Thank you," he says tightly. If the door slams a little too loudly behind him in the early morning he reassures himself with the fact that it's about time for everyone else to get up anyway.


	8. Chapter 7: Sitting Down for Breakfast

**I promise I am not avoiding you. I've just been through hell - Oops! I mean, I am finishing up a semester of college and hell still has one left.**

 **This chapter is a little bit of fluff, but I love fluff. It's soft and builds context. The story is nothing without it. Also it pushes the story forward and establishes precedent.**

 **I do not own Merlin or Percy or any of their bookmates/showmates.**

 **I do own melodrama.**

 **Thank you and without further ado, your dessert!**

He avoids Gawain who he sees approaching his new rooms on his way back. Instead he takes a detour and wonders through the castle to the lower floors where he hopes to find a way outside. He still clutches the jars and considering how he feels, he should stop to at least use some of the creams if he doesn't want this day to be too particularly painful.

Percy finds the courtyard with some difficulty, slipping off to the side and around towards the fields. He doesn't go to the one where the knights took him yesterday, instead choosing to stay higher up and in the shadows of the castle walls where he hopes no one will find him.

Homesickness.

The gods know how often a demigod feels that when they leave on a quest or when difficult times take over. The gods know how often he's felt it before, especially after Hera's tricks leading into the second war.

Never has he felt it so profusely, though. Never has his chance of returning home, of coming across a familiar face, been so nonexistent.

His head pounds strongly as he sits down. This whole situation is a mess.

The grass is dewy and early morning moisture clings to everything. Not for the first time he is thankful that he can become wet if he chooses too. The dampness is actually its own welcome balm, naturally healing and relaxing his aches. The real salvess for his bruises and muscles only helps more as he carefully massages them deep into his legs and arms, then a bit into his right side, the one he happened to land more on.

"You must be Percy."

And there is his morning heart attack. He's glad he's already set down the _glass_ jars he was holding or things could become messy, considering how tightly his one hand clenches while the other goes for Riptide.

The woman standing just twenty feet away is admittedly beautiful, dark skin and black hair that frames her face in ringlets adding to her soft features. Her eyes are a warm, inviting brown. She's wearing a simple, but well-crafted yellow dress with a sparsely jeweled necklace settling over her collarbone.

He consciously relaxes.

Slowly he stands, shuffling the jars into his boots (they're rather flat jars) and upset that he hadn't noticed her before. "That's me. I'm sorry but I don't know who you are."

She smiles brightly and takes that as invitation to walk closer and shake his hand. Her grasp is firm, but gentle. "I'm Guinevere Pendragon."

"Ah, the famous Gwen I've heard all about, the kindest, most beautiful Queen of Camelot," Percy says lightly (you must keep in mind that his face is relatively straight besides the polite interest he's managed to paint on it).

Immediately the Queen's composure is lost as she attempts to stutter a suitable response. Her face is completely pink and finally she just huffs out an "I'm not as great as all that."

"Merlin said your extremely modest too," Percy offers with a shrug. "I teased your husband when I first met him as well. Don't feel bad and you can blame his servant."

Gwen laughs loudly, a sudden melodious sound, before seeming to remember who she's expected to be and stifling her giggles behind her fist. "He didn't mention that part." Then she seems to sober for a moment and cocks her head to the side. "Normally when people admit to teasing, they at least crack a smile or laugh."

He blinks at her for a moment. "I don't really do that, I guess."

"Ah, so Merlin said," Gwen smiles again, but it's sadder this time. "Any reason you're out here hiding?"

He looks around at the fields, the distant sound of swords clashing starting up some distance away, but they're just out of sight. "I'm not hiding."

"You are," she insists, a stubborn edge creeping into her voice.

His eyes narrow at her. She comes across as all soft edges and peacemaking, but he supposes she didn't gain the heart of a bull-headed king with that alone (Merlin talked _a lot_ about Arthur on their walk). Finally, he relaxes, relenting a little. "I've just received news that I may not be able to return home. I needed time to process that before Gawain drug me out to have _fun_."

Gwen understands the part about Gawain easily and even though she doesn't know what he means about not returning home, she's kind enough not to pry. Instead she asks him if he's had breakfast and wonders if he won't join her and Arthur for their own. He agrees reluctantly and they head back to the castle.

She leads them through a different entrance, away from any prying eyes on the field. It appears this reigning hand is intuitive to the woes of others, of which Percy's is currently his new knightley friends. Not that he doesn't like them. It's that his headache is still here and they tend to be a tad overbearing when they've decided to adopt a poor, hapless man off the herb field.

"Arthur will be sweaty," she explains as they walk. Gwen is careful to stay in step with Percy even though he's walking slower than normal, dragging his feet. "He wanted to do an early training today because he'll be stuck in council for hours this afternoon. I hope you don't mind."

They end up in the royal chambers much to Percy's dislike. He feels it is too intimate and that it shouldn't be so easy to be so close to the king so quickly.

Especially the King of Camelot.

Merlin is there and smiles when he comes in, though he frowns slightly in worry in the next moment as something about Percy seems to bother him. Perhaps it's the bags under his eyes, they've surely gotten worse after a night of not sleeping. He certainly feels the weariness now more than he did when visiting Gaius just an hour or so ago.

Gwen must be too kind to mention it, though it could explain why she's suddenly invited him to breakfast. Poor, hapless herb.

The Queen herself is helping the manservant finish setting out breakfast. Her hands move deftly and it's obvious she's not let herself forget her own years as a maid. They don't seem to mind him floating off to the side and their chatter quickly starts.

Not knowing what else to do, Percy moves over and tends to the fireplace. He adds another log as the fire seems to be quickly devouring the ones already in there and adjust them so oxygen can get underneath the fire better. The room is larger than the two he's been in so far and there's a lingering chill from the excessive and inefficient window panes. After so many quests, he's at least figured out how to keep a good fire going despite the fact the chill bothers him less than it does most of his friends.

He pulls off the leather coat Gawain has given him and carefully lays on the back of the chair that Gwen offers him before sitting down. Merlin is seated across from the son of Poseidon and he would think that odd if he wasn't currently listening to gossip passing between the other two occupants of the room.

There is the distinct sound of boots on stone coming down the hall, muffled through the heavy wood of the door. Percy is the only one to notice (He's also the only one to have yet to start eating, but no need to draw attention to that). Moments later, a sweating and grimey Arthur sweeps through the door. He spares only one heated glare for his servant before strutting to the other side of the room where he haphazardly discards his armor.

"Oi!" Merlin bursts out. "You're going to dent it!"

Arthur only smirks as he takes his seat. " Well, if I had a servant… oh, wait, I do!" He mock glares at the man beside him. "Sounds like those dents are your problem, _Mer_ lin."

Merlin looks like he's about to say something further when Percy lets out an offhand comment without meaning to. "And the compromised, weakened metal will be yours and your kingdom's if someone gets in a lucky shot during a battle."

Stunned silence takes over the room and Percy would curse his years as an instructor and a leader if they weren't so valuable to him.

A huff and a grumble that sounds suspiciously like _'Know it all.'_ "Not to be rude-"

"That means he's going to be rude."

"Shut up, _Mer_ lin! - But why are you here anyway? And where did you even come from?!" Arthur finishes, shooting another look at his servant.

Gwen just shakes her head, curls bouncing in her face as she swallows the bite she's just taken. "I invited him. It seemed rude not to get to know our new guest and you're going be in council and dealing with patrols for the rest of the day. Now seemed the best time."

Arthur can't argue with his wife it seems. Must be a kind of natural law or something, if you ask Percy. The King turns in his chair and while chewing on a piece of sausage says, "Fine, but that still doesn't tell me where you've come from."

There is, admittedly, another brief intermission where Gwen scolds her husband for talking with food in his mouth. It makes Percy's stomach tighten as he thinks of his own family, now a family of four since his sister was born just a few months ago (Again not thinking about the fact that this will not actually happen for another thousand or so years).

"I came from across the seas, I believe," Percy explains. His story, for all but the two people who know the truth, came to him while he was staring at the canopy of his bed last night. "I'd heard of Camelot before, but we know only vague stories from years and years ago. From what I know the voyage between there and here is extremely daunting and ever since a curse befell the seas in between they have been unpassable by even the gods themselves."

"Then how are you here?" Gwen asks, thoroughly engrossed with the information he's feeding them.

Percy shrugs. "I don't completely understand it. I was doing a patrol for the camp I'm a part of when a strange girl approached me." He notes Merlin's weary stillness, but ignores it. "She was quite distraught and I couldn't make heads or tails out of what she was rambling on about. It was at some point that her words became particularly strange and the next thing I know I'm being transported into foreign woods outside this city. It was an awful trip too, felt like I was pulled apart and put back together if I'm honest."

Gwen looks horrified, her hands covering her mouth. "Oh, you poor thing!"

Arthur's brow is furrowed. "Magic then. Whatever she did was magic. It's outlawed, but that doesn't mean there are not those who still practice the craft for their own ends."

Percy frowns, analyzing the other man. He doesn't seem as full of fear as Percy expected, but the same attitude that Leon had last night is definitely there. "Like I said, where I come from is very far. I mentioned it to Gaius and he's never even heard of us." He gives Merlin a quick look and is relieved at the slight nod. "Magic is not illegal where I come from, but people don't understand it. We don't even believe in it. Even I thought it was folklore until yesterday."

"That's such an absurd thought. Magic not existing." Arthur mumbles. "But you believe the seas are cursed?" the king asks louder. Well, he's somewhat perceptive at least.

"We believe in gods, nature spirits, monsters, that kind of thing. The powers we know are not powers mere mortals can harness. Magic is just a children's story to my people as strange as that may seem," the demigod responds. He feels exhausted from talking so much. He doesn't think he's said so many words in the last month as he has in this one conversation. He pushes around the food he's barely touched.

"I'm sorry," Arthur admits quietly. "It must not be easy to be so far from home. Rest assured, we will do whatever we can to help you get back."

The queen nods. "You'll have a place here in the meantime…. and if it ends up being quite a while, don't you worry about that either. We will help you."

"Yeah, Gawain gets paid quite enough to buy you whatever you need and if you really are going to help whip my knights into shape, then you can have all the food you want," The blonde man adds with far too much joy.

Percy looks between the two of them in surprise, his gaze landing eventually on Merlin who just smiles knowingly. There's that urge to scold the king on not making it so easy for outsiders to wonder into the castle and integrate themselves with the court, but there's a small warm feeling in chest budding in his chest. It has nothing to do with the roaring fire which Arthur eventually comments on.

"Oh, look Merlin, you finally figured out how to properly warm this room. How many years has it taken you?"

"I hate to say it, dear, because Merlin does just fine, but Percy is the one responsible for the fire."

There's a hard clap on his shoulder as the king happily compliments his skills while shooting smug looks at the other dark haired man.

Percy's swirling green eyes catch that of the blonde's and he says "Thank you."

There's a moment of seriousness on Arthur's face, before his face splits into a large smile and Percy thinks that perhaps he might understand a bit.

"Oh hey! Percy, wasn't it? What'd you say the place you're from is called?"

A heavy sigh and Percy takes a moment to rub at his aching temples. "Manhattan. It's called Manhattan."


	9. Chapter 8: The Basics of Training

**Bonjour tout le monde!**

 **It's your much awaited updated. I apologize for the delay but laziness and holiday festivity beckoned.**

 **Anyway, here is your update. I do not, in fact, own PJO (Thanks Uncle Rick) or Merlin (Thank you very very much BBC).**

 **I only own inconsequential thoughts.**

 **Onward!**

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Percy goes with Merlin when he leaves in order to swing by Gaius's again to drop off the jars. The lanky man chatters on about his invented backstory, commenting on the gods portion more than a few times, and offering a few suggestions to fill in the holes that may spring up over time.

Percy doesn't speak, just walks quietly along, eyes trailing every surface making a mental map of the castle and the grounds he can see through the windows.

He ended up not finishing much of his breakfast much to Gwen's dissatisfaction, but he's not worried. She'll grow quickly accustomed to his inability to eat very much. The same is true of Nico and Annabeth. Their bodies cannot seem to accommodate much in the way of nourishment after _that_ place. He wonders if there's anything Gaius can give him to supplement his strength like Will does. Did.

Gaius is quickly filled in when they get there. He seems to approve of the fabrication and sets about preparing his evening potions.

"Where did you come up with Manhattan anyway, m'boy?" the older man asks as he shuffles around some of the vials on his table. He appears to be looking for something.

"It's where I'm from," Percy states simply. He huddled by a window, shoulders hunched. Merlin has already scurried off to do laundry and 'suffer through a meeting as punishment.' Apparently Arthur makes him sit in on the things despite his low standing and the servant considers it some great punishment for whatever he's done lately to annoy the king.

"Truly?" Gaius says, pausing long enough to give him a raised eyebrow.

Percy only spares him a glance. "The best lies are told in between truths."

The fact was that he doesn't like lying so much and he plans to do it as little as possible. His skin prickles with guilt just thinking about it and he raises a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. He makes a conscious effort to ignore the throb in his temples.

Gaius only grunts as he turns back to his task. His fingers are surprisingly nimble for his age and not one thing tumbles from the uneven surface of the table as he seemingly shifts everything around completely.

Percy is grateful to Gaius for not kicking him out when they were done telling the story. He doesn't know if it's because the old man wants to learn more about him or because he senses the quiet apprehension that racks the demigod. Either way, Percy is glad that he's aloud the continued reprieve. The physician isn't as intense as everyone else is.

Finally he finds what he's searching for, a wrinkled piece of parchment no bigger than the size of Percy's palm. It's probably torn from something larger based on its rough edges. "So the whole thing about gods and monsters?"

Percy doesn't respond immediately, eyes flickering to follow a few figures in the streets below. Finally he sighs. "The camp I come from is rather close to the world of gods and monsters. The rest of the world, not just Manhattan and beyond, is ignorant of it all."

"Any particular reason they're 'ignorant of it all?'" Perhaps the old man kept him here to learn something after all.

"... to avoid chaos and war."

The old man doesn't have anything to say to that. They lapse into silence and Percy finally takes a seat on the fragile looking stairs leading up to the book loft. He picks at a loose thread on his sleeve and let his eyes roam to find more hidden things around the cramped space.

"How is the salve working for you?" Gaius asks what-must-be-an hour later. The candle he's using to heat his tinctures has gone down considerably at least. It feels to short a time to begin talking again.

Percy shifts, ignoring the warning twinges his body sends him. "Really good."

"Good. Good," the other man says, standing up, bones cracking, before walking around to grab a book off a nearby shelf. Quiet overtakes them again once he settles back down.

It's only disrupted when Gawain and Elyan bust in, forcibly manhandle Percy out, and carry him out towards the training yard.

They literally carry him, because his quick escape from between them at the start of their walk has turned the whole thing into one big game. At least to the shaggy haired knight, who at first tries to bodily throw him over his shoulder, but gives up after Percy's sheer length proves to be too much. Then he settles for having Elyan grab the demigod's feet and Gawain takes hold of his torso and they carry the squirming man along.

Gods, they're fully grown children.

Thankfully Leon, who is in charge of training for the day, thinks so too and has the pair running multiple laps around the giant field as soon as Percy is back on two feet.

Then he lets the green eyed foreigner take over their training for the next two hours, which is honestly Percy's favorite kind of retribution. He starts of with the basics, going so far as to drag out wooden swords and make them shed all of their armor, even the padding, so that the chill fall air gets in between the seams of their clothes. Then he has them stand in beginner stances for far too long, until their ankles begin to shake. Just when they don't think they can take anymore, he has them switch into yet another simple stance.

It's not until much later that he actually has them moving and it's only to batter against training dummies. Slowly. He'd be lying if he said he doesn't enjoy yelling at them every time their footwork falters. If the frequent laughter is anything to go by, then the other knights are enjoying it too.

Finally Leon calls a break for a late lunch and they all move inside, Gawain and Elyan groaning and complaining since they have to carry their armor in, sore muscles already complaining.

The senior knight orders everyone ahead and walks side by side with Percy back to the castle.

"You are good at this," the older man comments.

Percy eyes him out of the corner of his eye. "It was my job back at camp."

"Training knights?" Leon asks sceptically.

Percy rubs the back of his head, eyes flickering up to catch the midday sun. "I wouldn't say knights. They don't choose to fight, they just have too. We saw a few wars in the last several years. I used to train them before that, but since the last one, I've taken over running the whole thing."

"They don't choose to fight?" the curly man says, skeptically. "Do you force your men to pick up the sword?!"

The demigod stops suddenly and turns to face the other. His body is eerily still, a quiet tension curling up his spine. He feels like he's explaining everything he's ever done to these people and it's a bit taxing. However, he'd rather they question things, not so easily trust, than to just let him walk around doing whatever he wants.

"Things are very different where I come from Sir Leon," he starts, earnest eyes daring Leon to challenge him. "I am seventeen years old. I've seen and lead in two wars. I started fighting when I was twelve and that's not the youngest I've seen some of those kids start fighting. We don't fight others like us. We fight monsters, the like of which you can't imagine, and we fight them because if we don't, they eat us alive. Monsters hunt people like me and the camp I come from is one of the safest places for children like us to live and learn to fight so they can keep living. If I force my students to pick up a sword it's because I want them to have the opportunity to fight another day, to grow old."

His lungs are heaving. His internal composure is broken by the way his whole body seems to protest his deep monologue. His head pounds fiercely. Dimly he is aware that Leon is apologizing politely.

His eyes narrow, trying to follow the other man's lips. He thinks he may be saying something along the lines of not being able to imagine such a life and what perril the people must live in.

Percy realizes that his outward expression must not have changed much.

He can feel it though, what Will always warns him against. Exhaustion is pulling at him, physical inability to continue and emotional drain from from suppressing so much anxiety turning his body off.

Gods, his head hurts.

His hands come up to rub his eyes and conceal them from the suddenly overbearing light. It's too loud even though he vaguely realizes that he can't make out any sound.

The other man is leaning in, too close, alert to the sudden change in behavior. "Percy?"

That one word breaks the weird noise distortion and suddenly his ears are being assaulted. He drops his hands and stares back at the knight.

"Sir Leon, I-" he cuts off briefly, his chest heaving. "I need to go back to my room."

And to whatever gods exist right now is he glad this man has good reflexes or he'd be kissing hard stone right now. Damnit, he should listen to Will.

He wants to explain that it's okay. This used to be a somewhat frequent occurrence and that he just needs to be laid in bed and an IV wouldn't go amiss if they have that kind of technology. He really doesn't like to have food forced down his throat, but he will need something as soon as possible.

Leon doesn't know all this and it's probably a good thing Percy loses consciousness a few minutes later. There's really too many people around them now anyway.

His body relaxes, folding into the other man's arms and a heavy, over-warm blanket coats his mind.

He really, really should listen to Will.


	10. Chapter 9: Settling In

**Bonjour!**

 **I know, I know. I'm a terrible fanfiction author and my updates are greatly unreliable. Does anyone even write for these fandoms anymore? Je ne said pas. Je suis desolé!**

 **Anyway, you know the drill lads and lassies. I do not own Merlin or PJO.**

 **I merely own unconventional thought.**

 **That being said, if you wish to inspire a one shot, feel free to message me. Otherwise, check out he ones I have created already and see what I can do.**

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Percy wakes slowly, eyes blinking up a ceiling that is most definitely not part of his cabin at camp or his room at home. Warm, red canopy is draped over him and he sinks into the bed beneath him in an unfamiliar way.

He contemplates sitting up, but the room is quiet in the way things are when dawn first breaks and his memory of the last few days is slowly but surely returning. That and his body and head still ache something fierce, telling that they don't have IV's here so his recovery this time around will be slow.

It's another hour before the door opens and Gaius himself slips in. He's carrying a weirdly shaped leather bag and a small tray with what is most likely soup. From his vantage point and lack of things to do, Percy knows that there's a water pitcher and a few metal cups on the table as well as some bread.

"Good, you're awake," the old man states, his tone carrying an unamused note and that eyebrow of doom raised.

Percy ignores it. "How long have I been asleep?"

Poor Gaius will have his work cut out for him with this one. He snorts. "You've been _unconscious_ since yesterday afternoon. Gave Sir Leon a fright, collapsing with so little warning like that."

The demigod says nothing as the other bustles around the table, gathering some water and putting the soup together. Percy sets up, his movements painstakingly jerky, as if he's cutting through molasse with the sharp edges of his figure. When the food is placed before him, he scrunches up his nose.

His stomach doesn't feel up to the task of eating, though he knows he should logically be famished.

Gaius is watching though, so he carefully spoons a few bites into his mouth and swallows. It's not until halfway through the bowl and the physician's quiet checkup that Percy turns positively grey and pushes the tray away with shaking hands. He's thirsty, but anything else and he won't be able to keep the contents of his stomach where they are.

Once the food is removed, Percy slides back under the covers and stares anywhere but at the other man.

A loud sigh echoes across the space. "I was afraid of that. You've gone too long without proper food. What in the world were thinking?! Do you not have many provisions where you come from? I know Gwen tried to feed you this morning, so you have no excuse to have not eaten then." Gaius looks entirely like Paul when Percy has done something ridiculously stupid. His stepfather has been surprisingly dad-like in his newish role and they've settle into a bit of understanding.

"…. I can't keep much down and my esophagus is damaged, so eating isn't always pleasant," Percy explains calmly. Will and he had gone over this a thousand times, which is why most of Percy's food recently had become thoroughly blended, protein-laden smoothies. ( **A/N Be aware I only did about a year and a half of pre med. If this is not feasible or logical, please for the sake of this story, pretend otherwise.)**

He can feel eyes on him, contemplating. Gaius wants to ask, of course he does, and if he had the poor filter that his ward does, he probably would. As it is, he doesn't. Percy is thankful. One cannot simply explain the affects that Tartarus and its rivers have on a mortal body.

"I will apologize to Leon and Gwen," Percy concedes. "As soon as I'm up and about again."

"See that you do," Gaius says firmly.

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Annabeth looks tired and frazzled, nearly at the end of her wits but unwilling to give up. Nico is as withdrawn as ever, even Will having a hard time reaching him. The Hecate kids had found trace amounts of magic on Half Blood Hill, but now, an entire month later, the trail has gone cold.

The gods are just as baffled. Apparently not a single one of them had eyes on camp that night. No matter how much of a storm that Poseidon kicks up, no answers are forthcoming. Hecate confirms the magic signature, but also says that the magic accessed came directly from the earth and that the caster themselves is virtually untraceable. She also admits that finding the caster may do nothing for their predicament anyway.

"He could be anywhere, anytime."

"Anytime?" Nico had looked frustrated and Annabeth had paled.

The goddess only nodded. "The spell that I suspect was used is quite volatile, I'm afraid, in that it is extremely directionless."

So, a month later, the uproar from Percy's disappearance has yet to fade. Yet nothing has been done or can be. They've recruited the Romans and the Egyptians in their search and Sally and Paul have officially put out a missing person's report.

No news is not good news. No news is heartbreaking, because he's not in the underworld and he does not appear to walk amongst the living. The gods would have been able to find him.

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Though a month for Percy is hundreds of years before that of his friends, his first month is much less straining. Well, after he and Gaius discover things that he can actually eat, and the physicians manages to make a sleeping draft strong enough to give the Son of Poseidon a sound night.

Leon, Gwen, and surprisingly Gawain have become very persistent about making sure he's well fed and rested. At first the mother-hen behavior is annoying, but King Arthur is good at helping him escape and then in private he's able to tell the king all his concerns about the city's security. He confides in Arthur that he led in two of their wars and then helped head their two camps after.

The two young leaders strike up an unlikely friendship which means that Percy spends quite a lot of time with Merlin too. The servant is bubbly and sarcastic at all times of day. Percy catches wistful looks from him often and it's not until now, while Percy goes with Merlin to saddle some horses from a day's picnic with Gwen and Arthur, that he gets to question the other man.

"What is it about me that makes you sadder than Gawain when he's barred from the taverns?" His question is blunt and admittedly comes out of nowhere.

Merlin stares at him for a moment, eyes blown wide in surprise. Then he smiles, a heavy and burdensome smile. "You remind me of an old friend of mine, one who was loyal and noble. He died a while ago and had his name drug through the mud for something he didn't do, but he is still one of the best men I've ever known."

Percy continues saddling his horse, nudging her gently with his mind when she keeps prodding at him for food. He puts a lot of thought into his next words. "… how exactly do I remind you of him?"

The servant resumes his work with his own horse, a beautiful dark mare that Arthur will be riding. "I can't pinpoint it exactly, but it's something about the way you carry yourself. It doesn't help that you are also of somewhat similar build. I think you may have the same morals he had."

They work in silence after that and Percy thinks he may know just a little more about the great warlock beside him. He wonders if this dear friend of his is Lancelot du Lac, the only knight of legends that is not present or mentioned within this version of Camelot, though he must have been. Noble and loyal would certainly fit the bill.

He doesn't get to dwell on it long though because they are soon off on their picnic. They make an odd bunch, the four of them traipsing out of the castle together. A servant argues with a king over laundry of all things and a foreigner tries to politely refuse the Queen's offer to have new clothes made for him (I mean he fails, but he does try).

Within the last month Percy has settled into life in Camelot. He's regularly training the knights, even those outside of Arthur's famed round table ones, and he proved just last week that he's worth their trust when he pulled an entire family from a burning house in the lower town and then went back to help put the fire out.

Now he is invited to things like this, private excursion with the royal family (and Merlin!) of one of the strongest kingdoms in Albion.

The sun beating down from above is countered by the crisp fall breeze that brushes their skin. Percy is wearing a thicker jacket than the others (curtesy of, yes, the queen) because it seems undernourishment is not a good way to keep warm in the later months. Birds are playful as they enjoy the last of the warmth before heading for southern climates or hunkering down for the winter.

It's peaceful.

As the conversation shifts and Percy can pull away from it for a bit, he comes to this realization. Even after the last war ended and repairs came to an end, peace never seemed to come near him. His mind warred for action that wasn't there, and his skin crawled with tension caused by constant battle and fear.

He smiles. He doesn't feel homesick in this moment. He's content.

It won't last surely, but it's a startlingly welcomed feeling. He hasn't felt this way since he first settled into Camp Halfblood and even then, it was in fleeting touches only. Gabe had made his life difficult and a demigod's life is never secure. He was always jostled about and set apart from others.

But he had been home then and perhaps now he feels at home again. At home with these peculiar people who will never be quite forgotten in history.

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It's a year later that they find it by chance.

Or rather a new camper, an eight-year-old daughter of Ares, who brings it to them. She hears the stories of the twice-lost Great Hero and she comes barreling towards Annabeth with her favorite story in tow, crying out that she must absolutely read this.

The child can't read it herself, dyslexia coupled with difficulty in school making her nearly illiterate in the English language, but her mother reads parts of it to her every night before bed. The pages are frayed with love and multiple trips through the adventures they hold.

It's a story of a king, a queen, a warlock, a witch, and a rowdy bunch of knights.

King Arthur Pendragon. Queen Guinevere Pendragon. Merlin. Morgana La Fay. Sir Leon. Sir Lancelot. Sir Gawain. Sir Elyan. Sir Percival. Sir Mordred.

And Sir Perseus, the one who changed all their destinies.


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